


Frights and Delights

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, absolute nonsense, some sexual references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: In which Ron is really into Halloween, Hermione is a witch, and Harry? Harry just wants to go to bed ...





	Frights and Delights

Harry had been at the Ministry for around sixteen hours when Ron frisbeed an envelope into his face.

In fairness, it did wake him up a bit.

“Tonight,” said Ron, who shouldn't have been in the Auror Office and had likely gained access by dubious methods. Perhaps not as dubious as knocking out an employee and stealing their appearance, though, so Harry didn't bother asking. “Our place.”

Harry tore open the envelope and unfolded the ragged piece of parchment inside. “This just says 'Halloween’.”

“Yeah,” said Ron.

“Is that supposed to be an invitation?”

“Give me a break, I only had five minutes.”

“A troll could have done better than that in five minutes. You couldn't have put any other details? I know it's Halloween.”

“I'm telling you the other details,” said Ron, as if that should have been obvious. “Tonight, our place.”

Harry hadn't had a lot of sleep at this point.

“For _what_?”

“Halloween,” said Ron. He seemed to sense that Harry was on the brink of throwing something heavy at him, because he hastily went on, “We’ll have dinner and everything, but we're doing Halloween Muggle-style. Hermione's idea.”

“Was it?” asked Harry sceptically.

“No, but she didn't say no, either,” Ron said cheerfully. “Come on! You're coming. Ginny's away, what were you going to do, sit at home moping?”

“I was, yes,” said Harry. “It's in my diary and everything, so I think you'll appreciate that I can't really change it at such short notice.”

Ron snorted. “See you at seven, you little ray of sunshine, you. Oh and don't forget, you've got to dress up as something scary.”

“What, like barging into someone's workplace with a last minute social invitation?” Harry shouted after him. Ron just waved, oblivious to the various colourful names Harry was calling him in his head.

He loved his best friends very dearly, but in his experience Halloween often ended in disaster, and he didn't really fancy doing it 'the Muggle way’, which he seemed to recall simply involved mugging strangers for sweets on their doorsteps. (Dudley had loved it.) He'd been here for hours trying to track down a lead, Ginny had been away for eleven days, nine hours and thirty two minutes (not that he was counting) and he just wanted to go to bed, damn it.

He felt this all the more strongly at six fifty seven that evening, having dashed home to change. He could think of lots of things that were scary to him - public speaking, being alone with Percy, that time Ron had nearly walked in on him and Ginny - but none which were especially easy to translate into a costume. At the last minute, he had examined himself in the mirror - pale, dark shadows under his eyes - and decided that with a bit of Ginny's makeup, he could just work with what he already had.

He Flooed over to Ron and Hermione's, landing in the kitchen to find them in the middle of a squabble. Fortunately, Harry's arrival meant they had someone else to turn on.

“What're you meant to be?” Ron demanded, in lieu of a greeting.

“Obviously,” Harry said, pointing to his white face and sunken eyes. “I'm dead Harry.”

Ron laughed, as Hermione said, “That is  _ not  _ funny!”

“It's not meant to be funny,” Harry pointed out. “It's meant to be scary. What are you, a vampire?”

He was talking to Ron, who was chalk white, wearing all black, and had fake blood (Harry hoped it was fake) smeared on his chin.

“Yep,” said Ron proudly, displaying pointed teeth. “Pretty good, eh? Better than  _ Hermione’s  _ costume _.” _

Hermione had clearly just come in from work herself, armed with folders and wearing her usual smart pinstriped robes and high heels. She rolled her eyes.

“I  _ told  _ you. I'm a witch.”

“A witch isn't scary!” Ron argued.

“Are you sure?” muttered Harry.

“Maybe not in our world, but you wanted to do Muggle Halloween, and a witch is a very popular costume for them,” said Hermione. She dumped her folders on the table with a 'so there’ finality to her tone, looking smug. “Right, Harry?”

“Well, yeah,” he had to concede. “You could have put a hat on, though. And don't they carry broomsticks?”

She shot him a look that said he shouldn't push it.

“So what now?” he said quickly, before dead Harry became less of a costume and more of a reality. Again. “Are we going trick or treating?”

“What?” said Ron. “No, why?”

Harry looked at him blankly.

“I thought you said you wanted to do Muggle Halloween.”

Ron gestured at the kitchen. It was strewn with gaudy banners and decorations of the sort usually plastered across Muggle shop fronts for most of October: garish orange pumpkins, fake cobwebs, plastic bats.

“Right,” said Harry slowly. “But … we're staying in?”

“Yeah, course,” said Ron. “Freezing, init? And Hermione's not allowed sweets.”

Hermione looked half-exasperated, half highly amused.

“I'm twenty-four, Ron, I can have sweets if I want to.”

“Well, anyway, it's cold and apparently it looks weird if grown ups go without kids. I tried to borrow Victoire but Fleur wasn't having it. Plus I don't know about you two, but my back and feet are killing me and I don't feel like moving much.”

These words were music to Harry's ears, even as he dimly wondered if there was something wrong with three young people in their early twenties being this keen to have a night in with a hot meal and some comfortable seating.

“I did get sweets for any kids who come to us, though,” Ron said, pointing to a large glass bowl on the side. “Muggle sweets are weird, aren't they? And the supermarket was as well. There was a woman in front of me who tried to pay for everything with different  _ coupons _ . She had loads of stuff! Took bloody ages.”

Harry examined the bowl, spotting various brands he recognised from seeing them strewn over Dudley's bedroom floor: Drumsticks, parma violets - who liked them? - Refreshers ... He'd stolen one or two every now and then and on the whole, he thought wizarding sweets were far better. Ron, on the other hand, looked like Arthur with a battery.

To his credit, he had cooked a delicious meal, and by eight, with only a few groups of children having come to the door (squealing in delight at Ron's costume and the ghoulish laugh he did for them), all three were pleasantly full and mellow from the wine they'd had with dinner. When the doorbell went again, Ron - sprawled on the sofa with his arm around a sleepy-looking Hermione - groaned.

“Thought they'd done for the night,” he yawned. “Harry, you get it.”

“It's your house!” Harry protested. He wasn't going anywhere if he could help it. His old bones (twenty-four) had settled into this armchair and here they were staying. “I am an honoured guest.”

“Yeah, OK,” said Ron. “You tell that to yourself. While you're getting the door.”

“Hermione!” Harry tried, but all he got was a muffled 'jusgethedoor’ mumbled into Ron's jumper.

Bones creaking, joints cracking, everything in his body protesting, Harry heaved himself out of the chair and shuffled to the front door to appease the pestilent bunch of sugar-crazed children on the other side. (Was he, actually, an old man? This was worrying.)

Apparently he was, because he was also losing his eyesight completely. He should be looking at a pestilent bunch of sugar-crazed children, but all he saw was -

“Trick or treat,” said Ginny, with a winsome smile.

“... you're not a trick, are you?” Harry checked, thinking about past Halloweens and how bloody typical it would be for a Dark wizard to show up in disguise as his girlfriend.

“Oh, no.” Ginny pressed herself against him; her flowery scent filled his nose and his brain, her warm body sending  _ instant  _ signals to, er, other places. “I'm definitely a treat, darling.”

“Yes you are,” he murmured, kissing her on the mouth, then her neck, then - oops, hang on, they were on the doorstep of Ron and Hermione's house on a night when children were likely to be around. Hold that thought, then.

“What - what are you doing here?” he asked, pulling away with great reluctance and strength of will, and trying to think straight. “I thought you weren't due back for another three days, at least!”

“The match against Heidelberg was cancelled. So I talked to Hermione, and I thought I'd give you a surprise …”

“You did that, all right,” he agreed, shifting uncomfortably. At least he was wearing robes. “I do sort of wish we were at home, though. Also, Ron's not going to be happy if you're not wearing a costume.”

“I'm pretty sure catching the two of us reuniting on his doorstep is Ron's own personal worst nightmare,” said Ginny cheerfully. “That's good enough for me.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
